


Batting A Thousand

by LuthienLuinwe



Category: DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sports, Drug Use, M/M, Major League Baseball - Freeform, World Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 05:38:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15745362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuthienLuinwe/pseuds/LuthienLuinwe
Summary: The Gotham Knights haven't won a World Series since the sixties.Center Fielder Todd is a rookie with a chip on his shoulder.Right Fielder Grayson was called up from the minors a year ago, and already has more scandals under his belt than he can count.And Pitcher Harper has more problems than he would care to admit to.





	Batting A Thousand

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my Discord buddies for encouraging this idea!

“And now, up to bat, lucky number 13, center fielder Jason Todd.” He pulled the weight off his bat, kicked the dirt off his cleats, and stepped into the box, taking a few practice swings as he walked. Wilson was behind home. All the controversies, and yet the MLB still couldn’t get rid of him. Some stupid catcher kid, a rookie by the looks of him, sat squatted mere inches behind him. 

He gripped the bat just tightly enough in his hands and raised it into position. He hoped he didn’t crack this one as soon as he did the last. Sluggers weren’t cheap, but damned if they didn’t get the job done. He watched the pitcher, keeping a close eye on him, trying to ignore the left fielder spitting onto the grass in the distance.

Eye on the ball, his coaches had always told him. Keep your eye on the ball.

He took a deep breath and moved his hips back away from the first pitch. Bastard was lucky it didn’t hit him. Ball one. He watched again, swung too early. Strike one. Watched again, hit it that time, pop foul out to right. Strike two.  _ Head in the game, Todd,  _ he told himself, taking a deep, even breath. 

They’d never been in the Series before.

Game six.

Bases loaded.

Bottom of the ninth.

He watched the pitcher wind up and release, ball flying toward him. 

He barely registered the sharp, crisp  _ crack  _ of the ball making contact with wood. 

Run. Time to run. And God, he ran like hell.

Did he make it?

Safe.

Runner batted in.

Knights.

Win.

He heard the roar of the crowd. Thousands of people, and he knew none of them, and he loved every second of it.  _ Win goes to Gar Logan. Loss goes to Jackson Jones.  _ He high-fived several of his teammates, and grinned when he felt someone smack him on the ass. He had three guesses as to who it was. “Nice job, Todd,” Grayson whispered into his ear. “One more game.”

“One more game,” Jason turned, and grinned when he saw the million dollar smile on the right-fielder’s face. “Harper pitching?”

“Harper pitching,” Dick nodded and looped an arm around Jason’s shoulders. Weird. He was never that touchy-feely with the other players on the team.  _ Granted the other players on the team never allegedly slept with more than one umpire to get better calls.  _

“We’d better win, then,” Jason said before moving away to be congratulated by team manager Wayne. Words were flowing everywhere, and he was having a hard time keeping up. God, though, he could already see the morning headline.  _ Gotham Knights Take Series Game Six 4-3.  _ Gave him chills just thinking about it.

He walked to the away team locker room with the rest of his teammates. Logan was already icing his arm. Poor kid had pitched six innings. He’d hurt like hell the next day. Harper was sat across from him, chatting about God only knew what. God, though, Harper was going to have to bat in game seven. He was almost as bad at it as Grayson.

“God, I smell like sweat,” Grayson complained, speak of the devil, and Jason rolled his eyes. The man had only gotten on base twice, and had only scored a run because Jason had batted him in. Still, it was time for celebration, not for arguing over technicalities.

He peeled his jersey off and tossed it into his duffel bag. For awhile, he’d thought the game was going to go into extra innings. Thank God it hadn’t. It had already been a three hour game, and Jason didn’t think he had too many more at-bats left in him. He finished stripping and stepped into the showers, letting the cold water wash over him.

“Heard Harper’s back on ‘roids,” he could hear West whisper to Kent. 

“Shut up, West,” Drake responded, and Jason could hear the  _ thump  _ of Drake hitting West upside the head. Guy deserved it. Harper had been clean the entire season, at least as far as Jason knew, and the drug tests seemed to back that, since he was still on the team. “Just enjoy the win.”

“He better not be,” Grayson muttered, and Jason didn’t need to see the death glare West had no doubt shot him to know it was there. Everyone knew about the Grayson rumors. People that knew Grayson were pretty damned sure it was true. And Wilson  _ had  _ been calling more balls than strikes with the Knights at bat, and Trent  _ had  _ called a safe when Curry had been out by a mile… 

“Alright boys,” team manager Wayne said as he stepped into the locker room, and Jason turned the water off and wrapped a towel around his waist before joining the others. “Good game tonight. Logan,” he turned to face the pitcher, who glanced over his shoulder at him. “Nice job, but watch that curve ball. Coach Curry’s going to have to work with you on that during spring training.”

“Understood, sir,” Logan nodded, and Jason watched as he winced and rotated his arm. 

“Todd,” Jason perked up, hoping Wayne wouldn’t tear into him for one thing or another. Because no matter how good of a job he did, he always seemed to screw something up. “Nice hit out there.” He couldn’t help the smile that formed across his face. “Now then. We’ve got one more game to get under our belts. Harper, you’re pitching. Todd, Grayson, West, I want you starting in the outfield. During practice tomorrow I want you working on your throws, got it?” Jason muttered a noise of affirmation along with the rest. He was lucky to keep his center field position. West should’ve stolen it from him months ago, as fast as he was. He wasn’t about to screw it up any time soon. “Wayne, you’re on first. Wilson, second, Curry, third. Kent, shortstop as usual. Drake, you up for catching again?”

“I can do it,” Drake nodded, and Jason wanted to smack him upside the head. Little brat would have bent over backwards if Wayne told him to do it. And everyone knew Damian Wayne only played first base because his daddy called the shots. 

"Harper,” Wayne continued, voice holding more authority than usual, and Jason watched as Harper turned to face the older man. “No funny business, understood? We haven’t won a series since the sixties, and we aren’t about to lose this one.”

“Understood,” Harper answered with a nod before going back to chat with the other pitchers. Jason watched as Harper frowned and pulled his phone out of his bag, turning deathly pale as he did. Whatever the hell it was, Jason hoped to whoever was out there it wouldn’t affect his game in the coming days. They needed that damn title.

Jason pulled on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, rolling his eyes when West patted him on the back. “Looked good out there, Todd,” he commented, and Jason nodded, trying to keep focused on the team and what they were doing, and  _ not  _ on Grayson who seemed to be changing slowly on purpose. God, Jason would have killed to have that body. “Earth to Todd,” Jason blinked when he saw West’s hand waving in front of him. “You still with us?”

“Yeah, man,” Jason nodded. “Just nervous about Saturday.”

“You’ll kill it,” West patted him on the back again. “We got this in the bag.”

God, Jason hoped he was right.


End file.
